Instructions For Dancing
by PancakesWithMilk
Summary: A girl and a rock monster dance, finding safety and peace for a short while in the process.


Astrid was looking at Orc in that perceptive way that made him feel like she was looking through him; her palms touched upon his cheeks, and she was coming closer. "Charles," she said quietly, in the tone of voice that signaled absolute seriousness, "you can do this. Please, don't—don't kill yourself." She paused, then continued, "I…I know it's hard—believe me, I know." She smiled a little, a fleeting, odd, half-bitter thing, her mouth sweeping gently up at the corners—and suddenly went quiet, letting her words speak for themselves, letting them fill up the space between them.

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Orc couldn't speak. His heart was in his throat, stuck and beating like mad. The sensation of her hands on his cheeks was so strange, so unprecedented; yet he knew, instinctively, that he never wanted her to stop being there, so close to him, so near. Astrid leaned carefully in. She then pressed her lips to his cheek, warm and soft and quick, before withdrawing, eyes searching his face for some sign, some emotion, that Orc couldn't fathom.

There was a gentle pause as they took the time to digest what was occurring, what strange, unwieldy spell that had been cast. "Astrid," Orc said in a strangled voice, and before he could dare to think he kissed her cheek back, clumsy and moist and fumbling. "I won't," he said in an fierce, croaking whisper, meaning it with every fiber of his being. She smiled at him so warmly, and, though it was essentially a thin and ragged smile, he smiled back; he felt so much emotion rush through him. It was like golden, buttery sunshine running through his veins.

His fingers moved of their own accord, alighting carefully on her waist, and her hands touched his shoulders, light as butterfly wings. Her smile was beamed into his brain, a scorch mark that felt wonderful and bright and _good_. Orc loved the dim feel of her skin beneath his large stone hands, her waist so bony, so delicate. Her hands were unbearably small on his broad shoulders, but he felt that he could melt under their light weight. Her slim fingers could guide his body anywhere, and he would follow; all thoughts of grief and sadness faded away at her touch. If he didn't know any better, he'd think the hard stone on his body was fading, too—replaced by warm, sensitive skin that could keenly feel everything that was being done to him, uncorrupted by alcohol and mutation, both inside and out.

Astrid's cheeks were flushed a little, but her eyes were sure and firm. They fixed on him, on his face, and Orc wanted to shrink under her gaze, so solemn and somehow expectant, with an air of fondness that made him want to meet it all the while. So he did, raising his eyes, and his heart fluttered when her hands shifted a little on his shoulders. She began to move, her feet stepping light and limber, guiding him gently, easily. Orc moved in a lumbering, thoroughly ungraceful way due to his bulk, but she seemed to make room for him, and his heart swelled when they began to turn, spinning in a slow circle. Astrid's hands seemed to grow steadier as they continued their slow, ungainly dance, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders, fingers moving cautiously down his arms, causing him to inwardly shiver.

Orc held his breath as her hands touched his big gravel wrists, then clasped onto his own stony palms—her hands were too small to reach around the broad surface of his own hands. She clutched him determinedly, eyes reassuring and blue, unwavering in their fixation on his own brown ones. Orc's mouth was dry, his heart beating frantic and happy. She looked so _fond_ of him. She looked—in a strange, giddy way— _proud_ of him. His heart lifted like a bird, like a soul gone to heaven, and he felt it soar up and up and _up_ ….

Orc never tired of her hands in his—somewhere during their dance his thick gravel fingers curled carefully around her palms to better experience the warmth and softness of her skin. Astrid's face was bright pink, now, and there was a strange expression of uncertainty hiding beneath her gaze, as if she was puzzled by the rush of sudden affection she was expressing toward him—but she seemed reluctant to be released from the simplistic pleasure of the dance, the sweet smoothness of an unspoken conversation expressed only by hands and rhythmically moving feet—though there was no music to be found. Orc thought, in the quick half-second before the emotion of the movements overtook him, that maybe she imagined it was _Sam_ she was dancing with. He subsequently thought, in a moment of clarity, _She wants to be away from it all, too._ With that thought came a feeling of satisfaction knowing she—and he—were okay, simply _okay_ ; no guilt, no self-loathing, nothing but the primitive pleasure of being with a loved one, imagined or otherwise. It was an emotion he had never experienced before, and one Orc instantly grew attached to.

Astrid led them to a gentle stop after what seemed like hours, Orc's heart humming all the while with the sweet intensity of seldom felt joy. She had dropped her gaze to the floor, and her feet came to a stop, and she then looked back up at him, gaze clear and effortlessly beautiful in Orc's eyes. They didn't speak—something had passed between them, something deep and heavy and tinged with ambiguity, and both instinctively knew that speaking would tarnish it. So, they merely looked at one another. They still hadn't let go of each other's hands—one pair comically large and made of rock, the other pale, comparatively small, with slender, elegant fingers.

Orc looked at her freely, unburdened by self-consciousness, and his mind sparked with sudden vivid memories of her in her white blouse and jeans, talking to him in the old classroom, tutoring him in that kind, gentle way she had. _She was so nice,_ he thought in a sudden burst of passion—then added, automatically, _She_ is _so nice._ It was a thought he'd had before, of course, repeatedly, but now, in the heat of it all, it seemed more honest and true than ever. His heart, already pumping hard, now threatened to rupture with emotion, and before he knew it he was pressing his lips to hers in order to assuage it.

It was a slow, hesitant movement, but Orc didn't realize it; time had jumped in his own lovestruck perception, and a panicky feeling briefly misted over him when he wondered if he had gone too far, if she was going to move away—but that all melted away once he was thrown into the sweeping, engulfing loveliness of the kiss. Astrid froze for a half-second at first, but she then responded slowly and tentatively; it was as if she was communicating silently, with an air of tender wryness, _Yes, yes, alright, just this once._

Orc couldn't have asked for anything better.


End file.
